Capturing You

Chapter 33: Oui, ça va

     "How is it, kiddo?"

     I took a deep breath and looked out at the green valley, red poppies in perfect rows kissing the grass on each hill before me. It was stunning.

"It's beautiful," I told my dad, glancing back at his face on my phone. We were video-chatting for the first time since I left for Paris, about a month ago. I wore a half-smile.

"Good. Is everybody being nice to you? No one's being rude, smoking in your face, or being stinky?" he asked me.

I snickered, rolling my eyes. "Dad, those are horrible stereotypes. It's gorgeous. See?" I flipped the camera around to show him the landscape.

"Oh, wooow,"

"Yeah. How's football season?" I flipped the camera back to me.

He furrowed his brows, but went along anyway. "It's good. The quarterback's good and we just got in this freshman wide receiver, and why are you asking about football when you're in some gorgeous field in France right now?"

I chuckled. "Give me a break. I was genuinely curious."

"It's really good, Avery," he told me, a bit warmer this time.

Any time I was on the phone with someone back in the United States – whether it be my dad in Louisiana or Trish and Spencer and Joe in Ohio – I wanted so desperately to know more about what it was like back home than to gush about what it was like in France. The allure for the country could never really fade, only dim; my homesickness blurred most of my excitement. The only thing that felt familiar to me was being behind the camera on days like this, out on the field.

"Good," I said.

"How's Joe?"

"Joe's... great," I nodded. "They're 2-1, so feelings are mixed. Obviously, I miss him."

My dad chuckled. "Well, it's only October, sweetie. Maybe, if you ask him, he'll come–"

"No, no, I don't want him to do that," I scoffed. "There's a lot going on. It's better if we wait,"

"Better for who?"

"It's just better."

I heard him sigh. "Alright, kiddo. Well, I have to start getting everybody ready for the game," he said. It was about 5 a.m. in Louisiana time, and just about noon here in France. "I love you. We'll talk later."

"Love you too, dad. Catch ya later."

After we hung up, I couldn't help but look through my old texts with Joe. We hadn't talked in about two days, which used to be unusual but became the norm ever since I moved; time zones and all. I knew he was most likely sleeping still, but I sent him a photo of the view in front of me and a quick message letting him know I missed him. Only a few seconds passed until I saw that he had read the message, then he began to call me.

I cleared my throat, not realizing until then that it had felt gummy. I straightened up my posture before answering, "Hey, slick. What're you doing awake?"

His phone was sideways and the sun was barely rising behind him; he was still laying down, face all puffy and a little bit grumpy but a lot of sweet. "I heard you text me. Is that really where you are? Show me," he mumbled.

I giggled and did as I was told, watching him light up.

"So that's what you left your ole boy Joey for, huh?" he teased. "I love it. I wish I was there."

"I wish you were here, too," I said, blushing.

Tears pricked at my eyes that I didn't really realize were there until I processed that I was talking to him. Our moments of face-to-face time were few and far between with our busy schedules; I usually had him call me instead of the other way around because his was more important. I quickly wiped my tears.